I caught the name of Pomponius. Verovolcus turned to us triumphantly. "The Great King Togidubnus, friend of your Emperor, will come to hear about his house with you!"

"Jolly nice!" I had kept any ruefulness or satire out of my tone, which was just as well. Helena looked at me sharply, but it passed unnoticed. Verovolcus seemed thrilled, but had no time to answer my platitude.

"It would be rather fun to hear a progress report," replied the Great King on his own account. In perfect Latin.

I thought this man must have something seriously expensive that he wants to sell to Rome. Then I remembered he had sold it already: a safe harbour and a warm welcome to Vespasian's men, thirty years ago.

"Verovolcus is assigned the task of monitoring events for me," he then told us, smiling. "Pomponius will not be expecting me." That, we gathered, would enhance the fun. "But please don't let me be a nuisance, Falco."

Helena turned to me. "King Togidubnus knows who you are, Marcus Didius though I did not hear Verovolcus telling him."

"And you are the perceptive, sharp-witted Helena Justina," the King interrupted. "Your father is a man of distinction, friend of my old friend Vespasian and brother to the wife of the procurator Hilaris. My old friend Vespasian holds traditional views. Does he not yearn to see you married to some noble senator?"

"I don't believe he expects that to happen," she replied calmly. She had flushed slightly. Helena had a true Roman matron's respect for her own privacy. To be the subject of imperial correspondence made her teeth set dangerously. The daughter of Camillus Verus was considering whether to give the Great King of the Britons a black eye.

Togidubnus surveyed her for a moment. He must have grasped the point. "No," he said. "And having met you, with Marcus Didius, neither do

"Thank you," Helena answered lightly. The whole conversation had turned. I kept well out of it. The Great King responded by inclining his head, as if her implied rebuke was in fact some tremendous compliment.

Verovolcus shot me a complicitous glance, seeing that his own flirtation had been sidestepped. But I was used to Helena Justina making unexpected friends.

"To my new house!" cried the King happily, wrapping himself in a huge, gleaming toga as casually as if it were a bath-house robe. I had seen imperial legates with pedigrees back to Romulus struggle and need four toga-valets to help them with the folds.

Needless to say, I had not even unpacked my own formal woollen wear. It was quite possible that when I left Rome, I forgot to include it. I had to hope Togidubnus would overlook the slight. Did Romanisation courses for provincial kings include lectures on gracious manners? Putting your guests at ease. Ignoring crass behaviour from brutes inferior to yourself. That stuff my respectable mother dinned into me once- only I never listened.

When he skipped down from his dais to join us, the King clasped my hand with a good Roman handshake. He did the same with Helena. Verovolcus, who must be more observant than he seemed, quickly followed suit crushing my paw like a blood brother who had been drinking with me for the past twelve hours, then clinging on to Helena's long fingers with slightly less violence but an admiration that was equally embarrassing.

As we all made our way to see Pomponius, I was starting to see just why Togidubnus had made and stayed friends with Vespasian. They both came up from inferior social situations, but made the best of it by using talent and staying power. I had the glum feeling I would end up with a real sense of obligation to the King. I still believed his new palace was an over-scale extravagance. But, since the taxes of ordinary Romans had been allocated to pay for it- and since the money was certainly going into someone's coffers I may as well ensure the stylish home was built.

The King had taken over Helena. It reduced me to a cipher husband, trailing with Verovolcus. I could live with it. Helena was no cipher wife. When she wanted me, she would drop the pride of British nobility like an over-hot sardine.

Any woman was bound to be impressed by a fellow who was equipping his house with brand-new floor mosaics throughout. It beats being fobbed off with a new rag rug and the promise that you, her layabout head of household, will replaster the bedroom alcove yourself 'when you can get round to it'…

"You're late, Falco – I can't do you now…" In the midst of glaring at Helena, whom he had not expected, Pomponius tailed off. He had seen the King.

"I am so looking forward to hearing your current perspective on our project declared the royal client. The architect could only seethe. "Just pretend I am not here," offered Togidubnus graciously.

This would be difficult, since his portable throne, his entourage and his hairy servants plying him with trays of imported snacks in little shale dishes were now filling most of the plan room. Olives, in rich oil spiced with flecks of herb, had already been spilt on some elevation drawings.

Pomponius sent for a couple of architectural assistants. They were supposed to help with the presentation. That way at least, he ensured himself an admiring audience. Both were ten years younger than him, but were learning all their bad habits from his fine example. One was copying the project manager's hair slick; the other had bought his outsize scarab from a similar fake Alexandrian jeweller. They had less personality between them than a flyblown carrot.

These old hutments must be falling apart. They were more breezy than army tents. The plan room was heated with antique braziers. With so many people crammed in we were already sweating. That would soon dry out the skins on the architect's plans and make them crackle. A map-room librarian would be horrified by these air conditions. I felt ready to warp myself.

An extensive layout drawing had been hung up ready for us- well, ready to impress me. This showed a monstrous four-square complex with innumerable rooms, set around an enormous enclosed garden. It was edged by blue hatching where the sea lapped. Green areas indicated not only the huge main garden in the centre of the four wings, but another vast parkland on the south side running right down to the harbour.

"The new palace," began Pomponius, addressing me directly as if he could not be expected to concern himself with tribal kings or women, 'is to be the largest, most magnificent Roman development north of the Alps."

Presumably the governor's headquarters in Londinium would be equally massive. To impress official dignitaries that would need to be glamorous, and to house the provincial administration it would be elaborate. Since I had not seen it, I kept quiet. Maybe my frugal colleague Frontinus had chosen to run Britain from a festival marquis.

Pomponius cleared his throat. He glared at me, thinking I was not paying attention. I smiled, with a flash of teeth, as if I thought he needed reassurance. That put him right off.

"Er -the main approach is from the Noviomagus road, bringing most traffic from the tribal capital and beyond. To greet them, my concept provides for a stunning exterior facade. The monumental east front is the first aspect presented to visitors; it will be dominated by a central entrance hall externally this has two dramatic pedimented facades, each with six massive columns, twenty feet in height. Internally the spatial content is divided into smaller units such as arcades, first to provide lateral support-'

"The roof weighs a bit?" It sounded more facetious than I meant.

"Obviously. Second, design features will draw people forwards to establish a flow-through into the interior '