stood neatly at the end of the garden. But the topiarist was unlucky. The villa's owner had wanted to see his own name in box trees. The missing vowel had just been beaten down to a stump by a furious man who now seized the topiarist by his hair. As Gaius and I arrived, he was about to cut off the screaming Lbo's head with his clipping shears.

Nobody had seen us. We could still scram out of the way.

Excuse me!" Gaius shot forwards, a righteous clerk at full pelt with his chin up stubbornly. He was interfering dangerously and I should have abandoned him. The shears may never have been sharp enough to decapitate the gardener, but they had drawn blood. The furious man was gripping the blades together one-handed, digging them into the neck of the topiarist as if he was tackling a stout branch. He was strong and handy. Pompous and plump, Gaius Baebius shook his finger like a feeble schoolteacher. Now I suggest that you stop right there." Judging by the furious man's expression, we were next for having our fronds lopped. Gaius carried on calmly, I'm all for chastising errant slaves, but there are limits." The man with the shears hurled the gardener to the ground, where he lay gurgling as he clutched his throat. Killing your slave is legal though unless you catch him screwing your wife, it is generally frowned on. The attacker stamped on the topiarist and marched towards us. He was not Roman. His clothing was rich and colourful, beneath a patina of careless grime; lank hair tumbled down to his shoulders; gold glinted at his throat. Most knuckles on the hand that gripped the long bladed shears were armoured with gemstone rings. He had dark skin, weathered in some open-air occupation; from his manners, he had reached the top of his career by trampling on subordinates and bludgeoning rivals. Whatever that career entailed, I did not think he earned his living by delicate silk-thread embroidery. I tried to defuse the tension. Your fellow looks in need of help," I called, still at a distance and keen to stay there. He may never clip a spiral again, Pity. His work is a fine standard…" It was debatable whether this man could understand Latin, but he clearly disagreed. I expected trouble, though not what happened. He threw the shears straight at me. The tool came flying at neck height. If he had targeted Gaius, Gaius would be dead. As I swerved aside, my brother-in-law shrieked. Hey, this is Didius Falco! You don't want to mess with him!" That was a challenge, one I myself would not have issued. I feared that our attacker had very sharp knives tucked into every fold of his richly layered tunics and cummerbunds, but that he could kill an enemy with his bare hands anyway. Now he was going to kill me. Experienced in conflict, I made a quick decision. Gaius, run like mad!" We both took off. The furious man roared. He pounded after us. So did the gardener, now staggering to his feet to join in. As we reached the end of a hedge, several other men appeared. We ran past a detached sun lounge and guest suite. We reached the limits of the grounds. We hit the beach. The sand was dry powder, hopeless for running. Gaius Baebius carried too much weight so he was floundering; I grabbed his arm to haul him along faster, and as I glimpsed his flushed face I saw that this was the most exciting thing to have happened to my staid brother-in-law since Junia broke her toe on an empty amphora. To me, it felt like disaster. We were unarmed, way out in the country where they make their own rules about strangers, a long way from our donkeys, and heading in the wrong direction. Our pursuers caught up with us five yards across the beach. Some slaves overpowered us first. I ordered Gaius not to fight. Quickly I owned up to trespassing at the villa, and appealed to good sense. I had just had time to introduce myself when the furious man strolled up, glaring. On his side the courtesies were basic. I was thumped. Gaius Baebius suffered the fate of the foolish. he was thumped, knocked to the ground and given a kicking. Then he made the mistake of scolding the topiarist for ingratitude, and got kicked some more. By the topiarist, this time. We were dragged back to the main villa and pushed somewhere, headlong. When our eyes grew accustomed to the dim light filtering through an air vent above the doorway, we knew we were locked up in a small empty store room. For a while I did not want to talk. Gaius Baebius shrank into himself; temporarily, he too stayed silent. I knew he would be feeling sore, hungry and terrified. I was in for a lot of complaints, none of which would help. I did think that if they intended to kill us, they would have done so. But there were plenty of other horrible things that could yet happen. Although Helena Justina knew vaguely where we were going, it would be some time before she realised we must be in trouble. Then we would have to wait for her to alert Petronius Longus, and for him to find us. It would soon be too dark for him to search. Given our captor's brutality, an overnight stay as his prisoner did not appeal. I wondered if this was what had happened to Diocles. If so, he might still be here. But somehow, I felt it more likely the scribe was long gone.

Marcus."

Get some rest, Gaius."

But won't we try to escape?"

No." I had scanned around for possibilities. I could see none.

All right. So we'll jump them the next time anyone comes in?" I was thinking of that, but would not forewarn Gaius in case he messed it up. There's nothing we can do; try to save your energy." We lay in the gathering darkness, trying to work out from a vague, unsettling smell what had been kept in this store before us. Gaius Baebius groaned as our hopeless position finally struck him. Then conscience made my sister's ridiculous husband confess something. He had kept to himself one very important fact about this villa and the man who owned it.

I was told something curious about Damagoras. Is now the time to mention it?"

Gaius, the time for information was way back. Before we climbed over his gate, I'd say. What do you know about this man?"

I was told he is a retired pirate," said Gaius Baebius. He had the sense to make it a simple statement, then not to goad me any more.

Torches announced a new arrival. This was no swine of a pirate in theatrical robes, baring his teeth wildly in the flickering light. Instead, the door swung open to reveal a tall, big-bellied, elderly man, wearing a clean white Roman-style tunic, and accompanied by two neat house slaves. I would have thought him a retired banker. There was an air of money about him, and I don't just mean that he lived in a minor palace with bayside views. He was sure of himself- and very sure that he despised us. We were lying on the ground, Gaius lolling against me for comfort. Unable to shift him in time to jump the new people, I stayed put. Extremely depressed and subdued by this stage, Gaius followed my lead.

What are you?" asked the big man bluntly as he stared down at us. He had a thick accent which I could not place, but spoke Latin as if he was used to it. He could be a trader, a successful one.

My name is Didius Falco. I am a private informer." There was no point hiding why we were here. I am looking for someone." I noticed that Gaius did not try to mention his own occupation. As customs officers go, he was good at his job and even bright. Piracy and collecting tax don't mix. Well, not unless you think the Treasury is a bunch" of pirates.

And your colleague?" The man with the debatable pedigree missed nothing.

He is called Gaius Baebius." Gaius had gone rigid. My brother-in law." That was accepted, but I felt Gaius stay tense. We waited for reverse introductions, but none came. The man jerked his head for us to get up and follow him. I ignored it. He turned back and said rudely, Stay there and rot, if you prefer." I stood up, wincing at my aches. Whom are we addressing?"