"He heard it at the Senate."

"He could well have done," I smiled, "only the dinner for the Society of Olive Oil Producers of Baetica was held on the last night of March. The Senate goes into recess from the beginning of April to the middle of May!"

Licinius almost gave away the fact that he was struggling now: "Well, I cannot say where he heard it. He is, after all, a senator and hears all the important news before most of Rome—"

"It was never news," I corrected him. "An order had been given on the highest authority that the attacks should not be made public. You people left the very day afterwards. At that time only a handful of people on the Palatine—a very small group in the intelligence service and Titus Caesar himself—knew that killers had been at work."

"I think you underestimate the importance of Quinctius Attractus," answered Licinius.

There was another short silence. I sensed a worrying force behind his words. Ambitious men like Attractus always do carry more weight than they deserve.

Licinius felt a gloss was necessary: "The fact that we had dined with two men who died was, Falco, as you are suggesting, one of the other reasons my colleagues and I took our leave. The incident sounded a little too close for comfort. We decided Rome was a dangerous city, and I confess we fled."

He struck me as a man who would not normally run away from a spot of civic disorder.

Natural curiosity about the tragedy gripped him. He leaned forwards and murmured in a confidential tone, "Did you know these two men?"

"I know the one who is not dead."

I spoke it very gently, leaving Rufius to wonder which one had survived; how well I knew him; and what he had managed to say to me before I left Rome.

I might have taken things further, though I doubt I would have been any more successful. In any case, it was my turn to be called away unexpectedly. An uproar disturbed us, then almost immediately a slave came running to tell me I had better come quick because my borrowed horse Prancer had wandered through the new entrance portico, and into the gracious peristyle garden with the beautiful topiary. Prancer's yearning for foliage was insatiable, and he had lost all discretion. By the time he was spotted many of the clipped trees had ceased to look so elegant.

The Rufii coped with this accident in a terribly good-natured manner and assured me the lions would grow again. They just scoffed when I offered to pay for the damage. We all joked merrily that it was an act of revenge from their rivals the Annaei who had lent me the horse.

They could afford to replace the boxtrees and I couldn't, so I thanked them quietly for their generous attitude—then Prancer and I left, as fast as I could make him trot.

THIRTY

Helena Justina had very few clothes on. Any ideas this might have given me were soon banished by the fact that she smelled like a salad.

"I see you're marinading the child!"

Calmly she continued to massage neat olive oil into her stomach. "Apparently this will ease my stretched skin—and if there's any over I can pour it on our lunch."

"Wonderful stuff. Want any help rubbing it in?"

Helena waved a Baetican redware jug at me. "No."

"Well, it should do you good."

"I'm sure! Like using oil in dough; perhaps I'll be more flexible, and with a moist crust..." Helena loved to collect interesting lore, but often had a hard time taking it seriously.

I threw myself on a couch and settled down to watch. Stricken with an odd quirk of modesty, Helena turned her back. "Was there ever a more useful substance?" I mused. "Olive oil prevents burns from blistering and it's good for your liver, it stops rust in iron pots, and preserves food; the wood makes bowls and it flames well in a fire—"

"In this country the children are weaned on a porridge made from olive oil and wheat," Helena joined in, turning back to me. "I've been talking to the cook. Baetican midwives smother a new mother with oil to help slide the baby out."

I chortled. "And then they present the happy father with a little dressed onion to name!"

"I'm giving Nux a spoonful a day to try to improve her coat."

Hearing her name, Nux looked up from a rug where she had been sleeping and thumped her tail enthusiastically. She had fur like rough turf; around her unpleasant extremities it stuck together in impenetrable clumps. "Nothing will improve Nux's coat," I said regretfully. "She really needs a complete shave. It's time you broke the news to her that she'll never be a pampered lapdog. She's a smelly street scruff, and that's it."

"Give Marcus a nice lick for loving you so much!" Helena cooed at the dog, who immediately roused herself and jumped straight on the middle of my chest. If this was a clue to what kind of subversive mother Helena Justina intended to be, I was heading for more trouble than I'd thought. As I fended off a long, frenzied tongue, Helena disarmed me by suddenly saying, "I like it here. It's peaceful in the countryside and nobody harangues us about our situation. I like being on my own with you, Marcus."

"I like it here too," I grunted. It was true. Were it not for the baby and my fixed intention to return Helena to our mothers' care in time for them both to supervise the birth, I could have stayed here for months. "Maybe we should emigrate to some far province away from everyone."

"You belong in the city, Marcus."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps one day I'll set up home with you in some villa in a river valley—choose your spot."

"Britain!" she quipped wickedly. I returned to my original dream of a town house above the Tiber with a garden on a terrace with a view across to Rome.

Helena watched me as my thoughts idled romantically. She must know my situation was so disappointing all hope seemed pointless and all plans looked doomed. Her eyes sparkled in a way that made me push the dog aside. "Marcus, another thing the cook told me is that a diet rich in oil makes women passionate and men softer."

I held out my arms to her. "We can easily test that!"

THIRTY-ONE

Helena was asleep. Off guard and helpless, she looked more tired than when she knew I was checking up on her. I told myself some of her present exhaustion reflected my rampant skills as a lover, but her drawn face was starting to worry me.

I should never have let her travel so far. Bringing her to Baetica was stupid. I had no real hope of finishing my task before the baby arrived. The past two days had convinced me of what I should have known from the first: none of the suave local dignitaries was likely to admit what was going on. Exposing the conspiracy would take halfway to forever—and finding "Selia," the dancing girl who liked attacking agents, might be impossible.

I had to allot more time to Helena, though I had to balance this carefully with letting her help in my work; it tired her nowadays more than she wanted to admit. Another man with a different woman might have kept work and home separate. For us there was no choice. Helena became distant and unhappy if I left her out of a problem. If I encouraged her to help me, she tore in wholeheartedly—but was it wise? If not, how could I dissuade her? This was how we had first come to know one another and her interest was unlikely ever to diminish. Besides, now I was used to it I relied on her help.

As if she sensed my thoughts, she awoke. I watched the relaxed expression on her face alter to suspicion that I was up to no good.

"Don't squash the baby," she murmured, since I was lolling all over her.

I roused myself and prepared to get up. "I'm taking advantage while I still can. You know Roman children expect to start barging their parents aside from the moment they're born."