She was still poorly. If I had been a softer man I would have wrapped my arms around her. I tried not to let myself imagine that I was, or that she wanted it.

'Falco, stop looking like a little lost eider duck! Talk to me; tell me how you like living in Herculaneum?'

I sat back and obediently straightened my beak. 'I don't. It feels an unhappy house.'

'Rufus goes out too much; Fausta stays at home and mopes. Why did you go there anyway?'

'To earn some cash. And Aemilia Fausta seems a possible key to finding Crispus.'

'By seducing and spying-that's immoral!' she burst out.

'Seducing is a tiring way to do business, even for the safety of the state!'

'When you seduced me,' Helena demanded waspishly, 'was that for the safety of the state?'

Like true friends we had the knack of hurting one another down to a fine art.

I answered her in a black tone. 'No.' Then I left her to think about it. She flushed uneasily. I changed the subject: 'Aemilia Fausta knows about my work.'

'Oh, admitting your status is part of your seedy charm!' Helena insulted me, rallying again. 'Are you friends with her handsome brother too?'

I gave her a rascally glint. 'Would Rufus be more susceptible to my soft lying eyes?'

She looked at me oddly then went on, 'Can't you see that Aemilius Rufus took you into his house to keep an eye on you?'

'What's his interest?'

'To participate in reconciling the Emperor and Crispus himself-to help his career.'

'I thought he seemed evasive; yet his future looks bright enough-'

'He has lived too long away from Rome; he is very ambitious, but not well enough known.'

'Why was he away?'

'Nero. Anyone so good-looking posed a threat to the Caesarly ego; it was either self-exile or-'

'A trip to see the arena lions at state expense? Why does he look like that?' I scoffed. 'Did his mother meet a Macedonian vase peddler behind a bush?'

'If it was his sister you'd be happy enough!'

I laughed briefly. 'If it was his sister she might be happier herself!'

Helena was still perched on her boulder but looked brighter. I rolled out on the ground, full length on my belly at her feet. I felt happy. Lying here in the sunshine, on good Vesuvius ploughland, with clear air in the lungs, someone pleasant to talk to, the Bay of Neapolis stretched away in a blue mist…

At Helena's silence I glanced up.

She had been overtaken by some mood of her own. She sat gazing out across the Bay, then she closed her eyes briefly, with an expression which was both pained and pleased at the same time.

It had nothing to do with my mission. She would have told me that.

Perhaps she was thinking about her handsome friend.

•

'It's growing hotter.' I hooked myself upright. 'I should get you indoors. Let's go.'

I started off too fast, because Helena had to slip her hand into mine to slow me down. I kept hold of her, whether she liked it or not, to cheer myself up.

It was hot, though pleasant walking. I was keen to march ahead and explore the villa, but in the country a man should always make time for a stroll with a lass. You never know when the demands of city life will provide another chance. You never know when the lass will agree.

We came through the vineyards where the half-ripe green bunches were already bending boughs. Our road doubled back. As we turned into the next slow climb upwards we caught sight of the villa. In the riding range on the terrace, a man was exercising two horses, turn and turn about.

'Are those racers? Is there a trainer?'

'Bryon-that's him.' She paused. 'The stables here might be worth exploring…'

I hopped up on a boundary rail, clinging to a fig tree in the corner of a field. The Senator's daughter, who had no sense of propriety, put one sandal on the rail then pulled herself up too, hanging on to me. We watched the trainer press the horse he was riding fast down the course, then slow, turn, spurt ahead and pelt hard along another length. I had no interest in racehorses, but it gave me an excuse to hold Helena steady…

We turned to each other at exactly the same time. At that range it was impossible to ignore how intensely we both remembered what had happened in the past. I released her, before staying so close became far too difficult. Then I leapt to the ground and helped Helena down too.

She lifted her chin defiantly. 'I suppose you threw the spoons in the sea?'

'Certainly not! My father was an auctioneer; I know the price of spoons…' We were friends. Nothing could change it. Friends, allied by the love of intrigue; constantly arguing yet never quite as irritated with each other as we both professed. And the tension between us, both emotional and sexual, still felt decidedly permanent to me. 'Just now, what were you thinking of?' I ventured to ask.

Helena moved away from me quietly, shaking her head. 'Something I'm not sure about. Don't ask me,' was all she said.

XLVI

By the time we reached the house, Helena was looking dreadful again. She normally enjoyed such sturdy good health that this troubled me as much as it plainly embarrassed her. I insisted on staying beside her until she was installed on a couch in a long colonnade, with a tray of hot borage tea.

While the small flurry which our arrival caused was settling down I acted the visitor. Helena sent away the slaves. I sat with her, supping from a little bowl which I held between a thumb and two fingers like anyone respectable. (If it's not too strong I quite like borage tea.)

When my mouth was thoroughly scalded I put my bowl down then stretched, looking round. No sign of Marcellus, and few staff. The usual gardeners were raking out a big bank of mimosa. Their heads were well lowered over it. Somewhere indoors I could hear a woman scrubbing, accompanying herself with rasping song. I poured more tea through a pointed strainer for her ladyship, standing idly beside her afterwards as if I was merely watching the slow curl of the steam…

The great house seemed relaxed and quiet. Normal people going about their normal tasks. I touched Helena's shoulder quietly, then strolled off on my own like a shy man going to answer a natural call.

Seeing the racehorse trainer had aroused my interest. I walked round the outbuilding in the hope of finding him. The stables lay on the left as you faced out to sea. There was an old livery block, used for pack mules and carriages. And a large new section, built about five years ago, with signs of recent activity. With the discretion of half a lifetime I managed to infiltrate myself indoors unseen.

There was no doubt, this was where Pertinax and Barnabas had once kept their bloodstock. The tack room contained one of the silver equine statuettes I had seen in the Pertinax house in Rome. Most of the stabling was empty now, presumably since his death. But two horses I was confident I recognized from that morning were sweating contentedly in adjacent stalls. They had just been rubbed down by a burly ostler who was now swabbing out the walkway between the rows.

'Hello!' I cried, as if I had permission to be there. The man leaned on his besom and gave me a shrewd look.

I strolled down to the two horses and pretended to take an interest. 'These the two Atius Pertinax had in Rome?'

I hate horses. They can tread on you, or lean on you, or roll heavily on top of you to break your legs and crush your ribs. If you offer them titbits they will gobble off your fingers. I treat them as cautiously as lobsters, wasps, and women who regard themselves as lively sexual athletes; horses, like any of those, can give you a nasty nip.