We had to go out to the old salt workings. Salt was the staple that brought about the founding of Rome. A large marsh lies out on the Via Salaria, the Salt Road just before Ostia as you travel in from Rome. Virtus said the wrecked vehicle was there. The chariot had been spotted by passing drivers that morning, off road and upended. Helena and I set off down the Decumanus on foot, intending to hire donkeys if we saw a stable. Luck was with us; an open cart rattled past, bearing a group of vigiles fresh from their patrol house. They were going out to the scene of the crime, and they let us hop on board with them. It would be a short journey. We could have walked, but it would have taken time and effort.

What do you know about it, lads?"

Debris was noticed at dawn. Salt workers were alerted and went over to see if there was anything to salvage. When they saw the situation with the dead horses, they got scared and sent a runner into town. Rubella dispatched Petronius; he passed back a message that we are to meet him on site, bringing transport and gear. Chariot fits a description of one we were looking for."

What's Petronius want the gear for?"

Lugging back the chariot."

Get away! It's not his style," I joked glumly. This is a rich boy's passion-wagon. Lucius Petronius is a stately ox-cart man." The vigiles grinned nervously. They were restrained, because I had Helena sitting silent beside me. I was feeling anxious myself about bringing her. The body we were going to see was probably mutilated; if my suspicions were right, we had a witness being silenced, silenced by men who controlled their victims through fear. Next time they took a female captive, they would make free with ghastly details about what had happened to today's corpse. I had seen violated bodies. I did not want Helena to experience that. Clinging to the sides of the cart on that short bumpy trip, I never managed to think up a solution to spare her. When the cart stopped, I jumped out feeling queasy. This was a lonely place for anybody to be brought to die. There was high ground up ahead towards Rome, but these wetlands formed a great marshy hollow, probably lower than sea level. Parts had been filled in by dumping the rubble from buildings destroyed by Nero's Great Fire in Rome, but the dumps only made the place seem even more unwelcoming. Most salt was now produced north of the river, but there were still a few workings here, as there had been since the dawn of Roman history. The main road ran on a raised causeway. The Tiber must be some distance away to our left. A brisk breeze was whipping across the low ground when we arrived, though when it occasionally faltered, the sun was burning. Wind and heat are the tools of salt manufacture. In the marshes on our right stood the hunched wattle huts of the saltpan workers, among the shine of low rectangular drying pools. By one of the huts dilapidated carts were waiting to ply their ancient trade up the Salt Road to Rome. Hillocks of sparkling salt grains were mounded beside a turning area where they loaded up. Nobody was about. Everyone had gone to stare. The wreck was on the other side of the main road. Better wait here," one of the vigiles suggested to Helena, but she stuck tight next to me. We walked down a slip road on to the marsh. Under our feet, the rutted path had a white gleam; we trod with care in case it was slippery. The worst risk was turning an ankle in a boggy hole. Old crystallisation pools were everywhere, though on this side of the road they looked unused. There was no reason for anyone to stop on this road, unless they had business at the saltpans. A lover might possibly bring his girl out here for a giggle somewhere private, but he would have to have heard there was a very good moon that night to romance her by. It was a stupid place to try driving a chariot off road deliberately. Everything was far too spongy under foot. Birds flew above us as we walked over to the scene of action. We could just make out two wheel scars where the vehicle had careered in a long curve across the saline flood plain, sinking deep into the wet ground and crushing the coarse vegetation. It was amazing that the chariot had made it so far without bogging down completely. Maybe it had had a lot of help. The sad corpses of the two once-handsome black horses were lying together beside the vehicle. A knot of people were gathered around. One chariot wheel was off, the other leaning at an angle. From the road, you would think it had simply careered from the highway and crashed. Close to, I thought someone had used a mallet on the coachwork. Petronius Longus was talking to some locals. He saw us approaching; he gestured for me to keep Helena back.

Stay here."

No, I'm coming."

Your choice, then." The vigiles who had brought us immediately did what they were trained to do. they moved back the gawpers. The salt workers were gnarled little men with particular features and little to say. Their ancestors had stared at Aeneas in the same way these were staring at us now; their ancestors" ancestors knew old Father Tiber when he was an adolescent lad. Others in the audience were contract drivers who had noticed the crowd and left their carts up on the road. The men stood about with their thumbs in their belts, giving out opinions. Carters always know what's what, and they are usually wrong. I walked up to Petronius. We clasped hands briefly. Helena had gone straight to the chariot, but it was empty. We had to hunt for the body." Petro muttered, but ever alert, she heard him.

Come and see." He walked with us across the marsh, away from the cluster of people. When we had gone beyond earshot and our feet were soaking wet, we saw something lying up ahead. Helena ran forward, but stopped in shocked surprise. It is not the girl!" A sudden rush of tears caught her. I stood at her side, bemused. There was some relief not to be looking at Rhodope, but at the body of a man instead. Petronius watched us both.

This is Theopompus."

Thought so." Petro and I were now back on old terms. Helena had crouched to look at his face. It was not pretty. Theopompus was lying on his side, curled slightly. He must have been dead here half the night; what remained of his clothing was sodden. He had been beaten and then robbed of his finery. Troubling discolorations covered what we could see of him, though at least there was little blood. It looked as if he had been finished off with strangulation.

Not easy to see what the girl saw in him!" Petro commented. Theopompus must have been twice Rhodope's age. He was short limbed and sturdy, deeply tanned even where his braided crimson tunic was drawn high up one thigh; the fine material was now filthy and stained. If it had stayed clean, we would probably have found him naked; his belt, his boots, and all his jewellery had been taken. Some of the gold at least had been worn a long time so it had left white skin on removal. a tight arm bracelet, finger rings, even ear-rings probably, because a trickle of blood had dried on his neck. I was not convinced the killers stripped the corpse. Those salt workers would have had a good look this morning; that could even explain how Theopompus came to be so far from his vehicle. The salt workers might have dragged the corpse away before they lost their nerve and sent for the vigiles. But he may have been alive when the chariot crashed, then ran for his life until he was brought down and finished off. Though none too handsome by classical standards, he had had more or less even features, before someone broke his nose for him last night. His dark, triangular face was slightly hook nosed. I supposed he was attractive, to a young woman who was ready for adventure.

I don't imagine the girl did this." Petronius was in the dry, brutal mood that often afflicted him when faced with a vicious death. Well, not unless she was built like a barracks, and she had just found out he was a love rat…"