•

I stopped her talking, as I held her tighter and smiled tenderly into her anxious eyes, shutting out all thoughts of Pertinax. She was holding me in a way that reminded me how badly I wanted her. She looked exhausted. She had been here at the inn with me for almost a week, uncomplaining and supportive even when I dragged in at night too far gone to eat the meal she had saved for me, let alone to provide any demonstration of my love.

'We've been living together here,' I acknowledged ruefully. 'And I've been too preoccupied even to notice it!'

'Ah well!' smiled Helena in her dry, practical way. 'I had always assumed that was what living with you would be like!'

I promised, 'One day we'll do it properly.'

Helena Justina studied me, standing very still. 'You know that's what I want,' she said.

Then I kissed her, trying not to let it seem like the last kiss I might ever give her, and Helena kissed me-so sweetly and for so long I almost dreaded that she thought it was.

Everyone was waiting for us. I had to let her go.

At the Villa Marcella I was met by Gordianus.

'I thought you were on funeral duty, sir.'

'Too anxious to relax. Where's Milo?'

'Herculaneum; incarcerating the sea captain. What's the situation here?'

'Caprenius Marcellus has had a stroke-'

'Don't believe it! As an invalid that old man is as genuine as a reluctant wife claiming a headache-'

'It's true, Falco; the doctor says another will finish him.'

'Pertinax?'

'No sign. But his father is convinced he will come.'

'Just you and me then, sir, sitting at the Villa Marcella, waiting it out…'

Us, waiting for him at the villa. And Pertinax out there somewhere, waiting for the grain ships to arrive from Alexandria.

•

Strokes were something I knew. My Great-uncle Scaro, an eccentric old rascal, not least for being fond of me, had several (though in fact my amiable uncle died from choking on home-made false teeth). I went in to inspect Marcellus for myself.

The diagnosis was correct. It's grim to see an intelligent man so drastically struck down. The worst aspect was that his slaves were terrified. So he was not only paralysed and robbed of proper speech; he had the added indignities of being treated like an idiot and seeing his servants afraid to deal with him.

I had nothing else to do, so I set about interpreting. At least when he wanted a drink or his pillows raised he could be made comfortable more quickly. I sat with him; read to him; even-since I was handy and it saved fuss-helped the poor old devil to his sickbed commode. The range of my work never failed to amaze me. Here I was: a trireme smash yesterday; a dogfight today; now a consul's nurse.

'You're doing well!' Gordianus commented, looking in.

'I feel like his wife. Next thing, I'll be complaining about my dress allowance and the Consul here will call my mother an interfering witch.'

'What's he saying now?'

'Ah… he wants to change his will.'

The Consul dribbled agitatedly. 'Helena… Gnaeus!'

I asked, 'You want to leave your estates to Helena, so she can hand them on to Gnaeus?' He lay back, satisfied. I folded my arms, letting him see I was unimpressed. 'Lucky you trust the lady! Most of them would snatch your money, then run off with the nearest low-rank muscleman who has a hint of disreputable promise in his smile-'

He started mouthing anxiously again. I let Gordianus calm him. Anyone who tried to use Helena to help Pertinax lost my sympathy.

After Gordianus left us I sat looking fiercely at Marcellus, while he glared indignantly at me. I said conversationally, 'Helena Justina will never remarry your son!'

Caprenius Marcellus continued his bleak, accusing stare. I could see he knew now just what I was telling him.

The ex-Consul had finally realized which sturdy member of the gutter-clogging classes had managed to subvert his daughter-in-law.

•

We waited four days. Then a discreet message from Bassus in Positanum informed me that enough corn transports had assembled to initiate the next stage of my plan.

I went down to Oplontis for a friendly chat with the driftwood-featured father of Ollia's fisherboy. That evening I watched the tuna boats sail out with their bobbing lanterns, in the knowledge that wherever they were casting their nets the word would spread: Aulus Curtius Gordianus, a distinguished priest (we all know priests!) who had inherited his brother's maritime villa on the cliffs near Surrentum, was celebrating his legacy with a private party for his masculine friends. It was supposed to be a closely guarded secret; there was talk of a specialist dancer with extraordinary proportions being brought specially from Valentia-and he was laying in huge quantities of wine.

The specialist dancer never progressed beyond a promise, but in other respects Gordianus threw himself into this enterprise with a flair which suggested he must have had unlikely adventures in his youth. It was a starlit night, but he laid on tremendous bonfires so that any gate-crashers could find him more easily. When the loud trierarchs of the Misenum fleet made land with their commander, the good Gordianus merely sighed like a man who preferred to avoid trouble, and let them find their own way to his casks.

There was just enough food to make people persuade themselves they could tolerate more drink than their real capacity. There were fine wines and heavy ones, new wines and vintages which Gordianus reckoned his brother had been maturing for as much as fifteen years. There appeared to be no organization; anyone could get at it… A host who was so careless, instead of trying to fend the happy trierarchs away from his liquor, caught them off guard: they gave themselves philosophical advice about how to avoid getting headaches-then for once even the navy drank itself insensible.

An hour before dawn I left the disgusting proceedings and climbed slowly up the path behind the house until the lights of the party had disappeared behind. Straining my eyes northwards and out across the ocean, I thought I could just make out huge ghostly shapes, like windmills walking on the water, tacking immeasurably slowly to and fro beyond Capreae. I knew they were there, and I hoped I really had seen them. Either way, I could relax: a good consignment of the fifteen billion bushels that were needed to feed Rome next year was safely going home.

I went back to Oplontis straightaway.

While the old man was still sleeping I searched the house and grounds. Pertinax was nowhere to be seen. I found Bryon, and told him I had thwarted the young master's plan.

When I had slept off part of my hangover, I prowled round to the stables again; they seemed even more deserted now. Missing Bryon, I stood still in puzzlement, then I risked letting rip a shout. Faint thuds started up in the livery stable block. I hared inside and soon found the trainer, fastened up in a tack room.

'Oh, gods, what happened to you?' Big as he was, Bryon had received a thorough pounding. He had a split mouth he could hardly croak through, and bruises it hurt to contemplate. The cruelty was familiar. 'Don't tell me: Pertinax! He enjoyed doing that…'

I helped Bryon outside, wetted his neckerchief in a trough, and applied it where the damage looked worst.

'Caught him in the loft-told him what you had said about his plan-'

'And he turned on you? Bryon, count yourself lucky you escaped alive. Where is he now? In the house with the old man?'