•

There was no need for drama; I could see she really did not know the yachtsman's whereabouts.

'I don't. I wish I did! If you find him, will you tell me?' she pleaded.

'No.'

'I have to see him-'

'You have to forget him! Play your harp, lady!'

The lady played her harp.

She was still playing, and there was still a slight atmosphere which a stranger might misinterpret, when a cheery voice cried, 'I'll see myself in!' and Helena Justina arrived.

I was demonstrating fingering. The best way to do that is to sit beside your pupil on a double seat, and put both arms round her.

'Ooh, lovely! Don't stop!' cooed Helena in a facetious tone which nearly made me choke. Aemilia Fausta played on stolidly.

It was a warm day so I and my pupil were casually clad in a few light drapes of nothing much. For my musical role I always adopted a laurel wreath; it tended to slide down over one eye when I bent towards my pupil (as a harp teacher has to). Helena Justina was sensibly wrapped in several layers, though with a rather odd sunhat on (it looked like a folded cabbage). She let the contrast between herself and us speak a lot.

She leaned on a marble pediment oozing queenly distaste.

'I never knew you were musical, Falco!'

'I come from a long line of self-taught strummers and squeakers. But actually this is not my instrument.'

'Let me guess-panpipes?' she mocked derisively.

Feeling left out, Aemilia Fausta twanged into her rather stately version of a whirling Bacchic dance.

•

I assumed the ladies wanted to gossip so I waited long enough to show it was my own decision, then I left. I returned to my menial's cubicle and did some desultory reading for Fausta's lesson the next day. I could not settle, knowing Helena was in the house.

Feeling peckish, I set off in search of sustenance. The food here was poor and pedestrian. On the other hand, the food was free, and if your stomach could take it they let you eat what you liked. (The magistrate kept a personal physician, in the event of really serious after-effects.)

I came into the hall, whistling breezily since I was employed to bring music to the home. An old crone with a mop fled to complain about me to Fausta looking appalled. The ladies were in the inner garden; I could hear the chink of spoons in pretty custard bowls. No place for me. I decided to go out.

Life is never all black. As I went past the porter's corridor, Aemilia Fausta's maid pushed her hand out through the curtain and slipped me a note.

XLV

I stood in the street, reading my message with a faint smile.

'You look shifty!' Camillus Verus' stately daughter, at my back.

'Trick of the light…' I lifted my shoulder to stop her looking over it, then managed to screw up and drop the note as if that was what I had intended all along. I grinned at her. 'Aemilia Fausta's waiting maid has just made me an offer I shall have to refuse.'

'Oh shame!' mouthed Helena gently.

I hooked my thumbs in my belt and slowly swaggered off, letting her come if she chose. She did.

'Thought we were strangers; can't you leave me alone?'

'Don't flatter yourself, Falco. I wanted to see Rufus-'

'Bad luck. He's deploying the fabulous Apollonian profile in court. Two sheep rustlers and a slander case. We reckon the sheep stealers did it, but the slander's a put-up; plaintiff's nephew is a barrister who needs to show off-'

'You're well at home! I would not have thought Aemilia Fausta was your type,' she found it necessary to add.

I walked on, replying peacefully, 'She has a scrawny appeal. I like blondes… And there's always the maid.'

'Oh, you won't see her again!' chortled Helena. 'If Fausta spots her girl making overtures, she'll be sold before you get back from our stroll.' I gave her my hand into a colonnade as a handcart laden with marble creaked past. 'Don't waste your time, Falco. Aemilia Fausta never notices rugged types with wicked grins.' She jumped off a pavement with an impatient twirl. 'Fausta only likes pomaded aristocrats with mattress stuffing between the ears.'

'Thanks; I'll load on more attar-' I hopped after her, brightening up as we bandied words. 'I feel sorry for the lady-'

'Leave her alone then! She's vulnerable; the last thing she needs is to find you with that soft look in your lying eyes, pretending you can't keep your hands off her-'

We were standing on a corner glaring at each other now. I tweaked at a strand of Helena's new hair. 'Been through a sheep dip, or are you starting to rust?'

'It's called Egyptian Russet. Don't you like it?'

'If you're happy.' I loathed it; I hoped she could tell. 'Trying to impress someone?'

'No; it's part of my new life.'

'What was wrong with your old life?'

'You, mostly.'

'I like a girl to be frank-but not that frank! Here's the court,' I growled. 'I'll nip in and tell the judge an Egyptian carrot wants him, then I'm off to flatter his sister with my Lydian arpeggios!'

Helena Justina sighed. She put her hand on my arm to stop me turning away.

'Don't disturb Aemilius Rufus; it was you I came to see.'

•

I waited until she let my arm go before I turned back.

'Well? What about?'

'It's hard to define.' The look of trouble in those fine, bright, wide-spaced eyes sobered me abruptly. 'I believe someone I am not supposed to know about is lurking round the villa rustica-'

'What makes you sure?'

'Male voices talking after Marcellus is supposed to be in bed, glances among the servants-'

'Is it worrying you?' She shrugged. Knowing her, she was more annoyed at being misled. But it worried me. I had the afternoon free, so I offered immediately: 'Are you going back?'

'I came with a steward who has errands for Marcellus-'

'Forget it. I'll take you.'

Just what she intended; I knew perfectly well.

We took the steward's mule, leaving a message that I would return it. I prefer my ladies to ride in front; young fruit insisted on sitting behind. The mule joggled, a situation I allowed because Helena had to cling on round my waist. Just after we turned into the Marcellus estate this scheme went awry. I could sense her growing restless so I was already reining in, but before I could lift her she skidded down the mule's flank in a swift rumple of white skirts around the longest legs in Campania-then she was sick, miserably, over a rail.

Stricken with conscience I fell off the mule too. Among all his bells and leather fringes I hastily found a water gourd.

'Oh I hate you, Falco! You did that deliberately…'

I had never seen her look so ill. It frightened me. I sat the lass on a boulder and gave her the gourd to sip. 'You'll feel better quicker if you just stop arguing-'

'No I won't!' she managed to flash up at me, with an honest grin.

Cursing myself, I wet my neckerchief and wiped her hot face and throat. She had that drained, dry-mouthed, white-gilled expression I recognized from being a poor traveller myself. I crouched over her anxiously, while she sat with her head in her hands.

When her breathing grew more level and she looked up ruefully, I paid a boy from the vineyard a copper to lead the mule on ahead to the house.

'We can amble on foot when you feel more yourself.'

'I'll try-'

'No; just sit quiet!' She smiled wanly, and gave in.