Unable to settle, he changed tack. `Your mother's been complaining that you, never come and visit her

`Tell her to get a new lodger then.'

`She wants to see more of the baby,' he lied.

`Don't tell me what my mother wants.' When Ma wanted to see the baby she did what she had always done. She swanned over to my apartment, walked in as if she owned it, and made a nuisance of herself.

`You ought to look after her,' claimed Anacrites, who knew how to throw a low punch.

`Oh, go away, Anacrites.'

He left. I rearranged the baby and myself more comfortably. Nux looked up, with one eye open, then thumped her tail.

My afternoon was now ruined. I spent the rest of it wondering what the bastard was up to. I told myself he was only jealous, but that made it worse. Being envied by Anacrites meant I was a man in jeopardy.

Petro came over to our apartment for a light meal in the early evening. I winked and thanked him for his childcare tip, then we pecked at a meat pie bought from Cassius. He always oversalted them, but we were too keyed up to be hungry in any case.

`What's up?' demanded Petro, noticing that Helena seemed especially quiet. I had not needed to ask her.

`I worry. when Marcus goes out on the trail, of a murderer.'

`I thought it was because we were off observing prostitutes.'

`Marcus has better taste.'

Petronius looked as if he was planning to recite scurrilous stories; then he decided not to upset my domestic harmony.

It's not only the prostitutes we have to watch,' he commented gloomily. It was like him to have been brooding on the coming night's events. `I've been thinking about how many different people could' be involved if these killings are linked to festivals.'

'Anyone involved with transport, you mean?' said Helena, who still stuck with the theory that the killer drove in from outside Rome.

`Yes; or the ticket-sellers on the gates -'

'Programme-sellers.' I joined in the game. `Garland girls, gambling agents, ticket touts, food and drink pedlars.'

`Parasol and souvenir stallholders,' Petro contributed. `Aediles and ushers.' I `Arena sweepers.'

`All the charioteers and gladiators, their stable hands and trainers, the actors, the clowns, the musicians,' chimed in Helena. `The Circus employees who open the starting gates and turn the markers for the laps. The slaves who manoeuvre the water organ.'

`The snobby chamberlain who opens the gate at the back of the Imperial box when the Emperor wants, to slip out for a pee -'

`Thank you, Marcus! All the audience from the Emperor down, not forgetting the Praetorian Guard -'

`Stop, stop!' cried Petronius. `I know it's true, but you jolly, pair are depressing me.'

`That's the trouble with the vigiles,' I 'told Helena ruefully. `No staying power.'

`It was your idea,' she reminded him. `Some of us think the deaths only occur at festivals because the murderer is a visitor from elsewhere.'

Nevertheless, when it was time for us to leave for our evening patrol Petro had the tact to walk off ahead of me so I could hold Helena tight for a moment. I kissed her tenderly

while she begged me to take care.

It was another warm night. The area around the Circus Maximus was dreary with litter and bad smells. After two weeks of festivity the street-cleaners had given up. The audience must have been played out too, because some were starting to leave almost as soon as we arrived, which was well before the trumpets that signalled the closing ceremonial

Petronius was taking the Street of, the Three Altars tonight. We reckoned that swapping kept us fresh. I clapped his shoulder and walked on, towards the Temple of Sol and Luna. At the, end of the street I glanced back; it took me a moment to find him. Despite his size Petro could blend in. His brown-clad, brown-headed figure merged into the crowds as he sauntered nonchalantly under a portico looking like a man who had every right to be there, doing nothing much and paying attention to nobody.

I knew he, would have noticed all the female passers-by, filing the lookers in his `noteworthy' pigeonhole, yet remembering the discards too. He would spot the lurkers and loungers. He would wince because there were too many children out so late, scowl at the yobbish louts, groan at the senseless girls. If an unprotected woman or a pervert came near Petro, he would mark them. If anyone was too closely watched,, or shadowed, or bothered, let: alone openly assaulted, the heavy hand of Petronius Longus would descend out of nowhere and collar the criminal.

I passed members of the vigiles both obvious and well disguised. Their Prefect had given Frontinus a good response and the district had been decently packed with men. But, like us, they had no idea who they were really looking for.

I turned into the Street of the Public Fishpond. My heart was pounding. This was the night. I was suddenly sure he would be here.

By now there was a slow but constant exodus from the stadium. People were walking lazily, tired out by fifteen days of Games, tired of excitement and yelling themselves hoarse, tired of commercial food and cheap sticky wine, ready for normal daily life again. Mid-September. The weather would become cooler soon. The long hot summer must be reaching its end. Two weeks would see the traditional finish of the fighting season. October brought the end of the school holidays; after three and a half months, it would be a relief to some (including schoolteachers, by now desperate to earn new fees). October would also bring fresh festivals, but we were not there yet. There was still tonight, one last chance to make these Games memorable, a few final hours left for simple pleasure or outright debauchery.

Inside the Circus I could hear the cornu band going at it now: the huge, almost circular brass' horns, supported on the players' shoulders by cross-bars, their different notes blown with sheer puff. Or missed, frequently. Especially after a long day of events.

I decided there was one class of suspect we could discount: no cornu player would have the strength to overpower a woman after blowing his heart out with the band.

Limp applause down the length of the valley finally ended the Ludi Romani for another year.

By that time those of the audience who had been glad to see the Games over were long gone. The remainder were now shuffling from the Circus, chivvied by the ushers who wanted to close the gates, yet reluctant to depart. Outside, groups were standing about. Young people were hoping for more excitement. Visitors were saying farewell to friends they only saw during festivals. Youths catcalled after giggling girls. Musicians stood around in case somebody offered to buy them a drink. Snack-sellers slowly packed up Gypsy-eyed pedlars: from Transtiberina drifted from group to group still trying to force last-minute sales of shoddy trinkets. A dwarf, hung all around his waist -with cheap cushions, waddled off towards the Temple of Mercury.

Deep in the shadow of the stadium hovered the working women. Skirts hitched, legs flashing, tottering on high cork heels, goggling through soot-rimmed lashes, they showed themselves in ones or twos.: False hair, or real hair endlessly mistreated until it looked false, towered above their chalked faces, each mask-like visage slashed with lips dyed the colour

of pig's liver. Men regularly went up; to them. They I exchanged a few words then quietly disappeared into the darker gloom, reconvening not long afterwards for another business-like encounter.

Behind me, up in the darkness of the, Temple entrance, I could hear noises that suggested commerce went on there too. Or perhaps the fun was not being paid for, and some youth had struck lucky with one of the bad, loud girls marauding among their sassy friends hours after their mothers had told them to be home. I might have cheered it once. I was a father now.