Come and have a drink, Gaius."

Steady on, Marcus; I have to be at my post."

You're the supervisor. Give your staff an opportunity to make mistakes. How can you put them right otherwise? This is for their own good The underlings gazed at me with mixed feelings. A small queue of traders let out an ironic cheer. Oh Hades. Junia had made Gaius have Ajax for the afternoon. When I pulled him from his seat behind the tablets and money caskets, the dreadful dog came too. An uncontrollable tail knocked over two inkwells, as Gaius lifted off his wide-beamed backside and stood up reluctantly from his stool. That enormous wet tongue caught the back of my knees as the loopy creature bumbled after us. Every time we passed a porter with a handcart, Ajax had to bark.

Leaving the desk is bad practice, Marcus."

Have a breather. Enjoy bumming off for once, like everyone else."

Ajax! Drop it! Good boy…" Portus was Elysium for an excitable dog. The harbour walkways were stuffed with bollards to pee against, sacks to jump on, amphorae to lick, cranes to wind a lead around. Short men who looked suspicious lurked everywhere, begging to be harassed with growls and bared teeth. There were wild smells, sudden loud noises, and unseen vermin scuttling in dark corners. Eventually the dog found a bit of ragged rope to carry, then he calmed down.

He needs discipline, Gaius. My Nux would be walking sedately at my side now." Gaius Baebius was annoying, but not daft. If that's true, you must have got a new dog since I saw you last, Falco." He sidetracked himself, wondering when our last meeting had been. Saturnalia, apparently. Julia had broken one of her deaf cousin's toys, and Favonia gave the dear little boy a nasty cold. Well, that was children, I said callously, dragging the brother-in-law to the counter of a streetside foodshop. I ordered. I didn't bother upsetting myself by waiting for Gaius Baebius to play the host; we would have ended up being asked to leave the counter to make way for paying customers. I asked for a small dish of nuts and a spiced wine. Gaius Baebius held a lengthy debate about whether he wanted the lentil mash or something they called the pulse of the day, which looked like pork chunks to me. Gaius, unconvinced, expressed his uncertainty at great length, failing to interest anybody else in his dilemma. I had tried solving problems for him in the past. I had no wish to end up dribbling with delirium again, so I just ate my nuts. Meat stews were banned in fast-food outlets, in case enjoying a decent meal incited people to relax their guard and express disapproval of the government. No food-seller was going to admit to Gaius Baebius that he was flouting the edict; every word Gaius uttered gave the impression of an inspector sent by some unpleasant aedile to check on infringements of the Emperor's hotpot regulations. Eventually he decided on a bowl of nuts too. The proprietor gave us both a filthy glare and banged it down, only half full, at which Gaius cavilled stubbornly for a while. Dark plans for murdering him seeped into my brain. One customer edged away from us, declined a refill and fled. The other walked aside in a huff, and lapped up his potage while leaning on a bollard and shouting insults at seagulls. Ajax joined in, barking so loudly that heads popped out of the nearby grain and spice negotiators' offices, while the bouncer at the Damson Flower Boarding-House [which looked like a brothel] came outside to glare. Ajax had been imbued with my sister's stiff morals. He hated the brothel bouncer; hurling into attack mode, he dragged at his lead until it pulled so tight he was frothing and half choked. Oblivious, Gaius Baebius fixed me, wagging his finger. Now come on, Marcus, stop holding up the issue. You want to ask me about that fellow called Damagoras. So why can't you get on with it?" It took me some time to stop choking on my wine, then a few more moments of reflection on why it would be unwise to throttle Gaius Baebius. [Junia would turn me in] Then I solemnly asked the crucial question, so Gaius Baebius gravely told me what he knew. I thought he told me everything. Later, I knew better. My brother-in-law mentioned a large maritime villa somewhere out of town. Holiday homes owned by wealthy grandees and the imperial family had long occupied the stretch of coast near Ostia. There was an attractive mix of forests full of huntable game and an ocean panorama; holidays could provide exercise and relaxation, and when they palled, Rome was only a few hours distant. That property lover, Augustus, had owned a spread which passed to Claudius, who kept elephants in the grounds. A nosy tourist, Gaius Baebius had once taken a trip to gape at these places, which were mainly deserted nowadays; a local had pointed out one great house that was actually occupied, where a man called Damagoras lived. I remember this, Marcus, because of the rather unusual name; it seemed to have a foreign ring."

So give me directions to the incomer's villa, Gaius."

You'll never find it. I'll have to take you there."

I wouldn't hear of it."

Oh it's no trouble," declared Gaius [implying it was enormous trouble, so that I would feel guilty. As you said so wisely, Marcus, my work can wait. They very much rely on me, but I should take time off occasionally." I was stuck. My dead-weight relation was now looking forward to a leisurely seaside day out. There was no alternative. I had no other clues to the whereabouts of Diocles. The mysterious Damagoras was my sole lead.

Once I prised him from his desk, Gaius decided to make the most of it. He suggested we take picnics, sunhats and our families. I said that would look unprofessional. Respecting the work concept, he agreed even though he had always thought my sphere of activity had all the glamour of the mighty mound of horse manure outside the Circus Maximus. I managed to persuade him we still had enough daylight to hire donkeys, visit the villa, and be back before dinner. We could make up a bathing party some other day… Time was with us when we started. We left through the Laurentine Gate, riding fast through the enormous necropolis that lay outside town. Farms and orchards covered the plain, then when we hit the Via Severina, the main road to Laurentum, there were fancy villas every half a mile. After Gaius had lost himself down several wrong turnings, we were pushing it for time. Off-duty fishermen had stared at us in a tiny seashore village when he took us off the main road. Returning to it, we had ridden through miles of light woodland. Gaius rejected numerous villas built for people with too little leisure time and far too much money. The Laurentine coastline south of Ostia is a continuous ribbon of guarded homes set in elegant playgrounds and we had ridden past many of them. The sun had mellowed and shadows were long when we took one final lumpy track off the high road, headed gloomily towards the sea, and turned up at the place we wanted. a large fenced property which by chance had no one at the gate. The gate was closed. We tethered our donkeys out of sight and climbed it. I wanted to go exploring by myself, but nobody went on a solo foray when they were out with Gaius Baebius. He had no idea of diplomacy, and no intention of covering the rear. We walked up the entrance drive, keeping our ears peeled. If the owner of this place was the usual rich enthusiast with a menagerie that roamed loose, we were sitting targets. Our boots sank into warm sandy soil on a soft track, where the coastal air was richly scented with pine needles. Cicadas whirred in the great trees all around us. Other wise there was silence, except for the distant whisper of the waves, breaking in long low combers on the so-far hidden shore. The villa we reached was built so close to the sea that it must often be uncomfortable to unfold the panoramic doors on its various dining rooms, lest the sea view came in a little too close and spray reached the serving tables, tainting the rich contents of the silver dishes and tarnishing their heavy decoration. Sea breezes would waken sleepers in the lavish guest bedrooms. The salty air was already drying my skin. It must cause horticultural problems in the kitchen gardens beside the bath house, the trellised arbours covered with tough vines and ornamentals, and the wide, formally planted parterre where we ended up. There the paths had been gravelled, but sand constantly blew over them, and some of the box edgings had suffered from too harsh a climate. Nonetheless, a dogged gardener had produced a green area where he let his imagination run riot on topiary. The estate did boast wild beasts, a half-size elephant raising his trunk [which had to be on wires] and a matched pair of lions, all clipped out of bushes. So proud was the topiarist of his careful handiwork that he had signed his name in box trees. He was called Labo. Or Libo. Or Lubo.