the top of his head as he pressed himself against the rockface. He was clinging on by his fingertips. One hand grasped a twiggy shrub above him, while the other reached out sideways, desperately clutching variations in the bare limestone. The rescuers had managed to lower the rope very close to him, but if he let go with either hand to grab it, he would fall.

I wanted to call out to him. That could be fatal. I grabbed the rescuers' rope, adding my weight to the human ballast. Then someone shouted a warning. I let go, looked over the edge, and was just in time to see the shrub give way, its shallow roots wrenched from their tenuous hold. Cleonymus went crashing down the cliff. He travelled many feet. Once I thought I heard him yell. Then there was silence. Far below, his body lay still. We all started down the road as fast as possible, but we knew that by the time we reached him wherever he had come to rest, there would be no help we could give.

"Did anyone see what happened?" As we stumbled along, I tried to make sense of the accident.

A passer-by, himself in shock now, had heard the dog barking and a man calling for help. At first Cleonymus had come to rest almost within reach, clinging to the rockface close to the road. Minutes later, he panicked as he tried to climb to safety, lost his grip and fell further. A ragged group of helpers assembled. One brave soul ventured over the edge, but it was too dangerous; others pulled him back.

Everyone assumed Cleonymus had stood too close to the edge. He either lost his balance as he looked down over the perilous drop, or perhaps part of the road gave way under him.

"Did he say anything?"

"Apart from screaming "Help me!.

"Sorry. Was anybody with him when he fell?"

One witness had seen Cleonymus talking to another fellow earlier. But the witness was elderly and vague; the other man could easily have been me when I was with Cleonymus. Then someone else claimed to have seen a man in expensive clothes walking briskly downhill just before the tragedy. Nobody like that had passed me on my way to the spring. If the sighting was true, this well-dressed man must have followed Cleonymus and me up, then turned back.

With great difficulty, we managed to retrieve the body. It took over an hour, and by the time we brought Cleonymus to a lower part of the road, he had been with his ancestors too long to be revived. For

his sake, I hoped death had happened quickly. We laid him down with gentle hands. I removed his jewellery and purse for safe keeping, then covered him with my cloak. One of the helpers had transport; he promised to convey the body to the governor's residence. Aquillius could take responsibility.

I called Nux. She came over slowly, still walking as if she had been kicked in the ribs. She yowked in pain when I picked her up. As I carried her back to Corinth, she lay subdued in my arms, tail down and trembling.

The freedman had told me a few new facts today. He had known more, I felt sure of it. Now I was left frustrated, wondering whether somebody had thought his knowledge so bad for them that they silenced him. Did Cleonymus share something Turcianus Opimus had known? Were the two travellers killed by the same person, for the same reason?

I remembered how I left Cleonymus, sitting in a perfectly safe position, with Nux lying contentedly at his feet. He had wanted simply to rest quietly for a while. In the short time I took to reach the upper Peirene spring, fill a flagon, and insult a woman, it was unlikely that Cleonymus would have moved from his recovery spot.

Something had made him fall. My dog had seen it. It sounded to me as if this "expensively dressed man' had pushed Cleonymus and kicked Nux, maybe when she tried to defend the freedman. Nux was unable to explain to me, but I stroked her to bring us both comfort. Now it fell to me to break the news to Cleonyma. I always loathed that task. It was all the worse when the victim was someone whose generosity and intelligence I had come to like.

It was worst of all when I suspected the "accident' that killed him had been no accident at all.

The women were shrieking with laughter when Helena and I walked into the inn courtyard. Most of the group were there at the Helios. Everyone seemed tipsy. To me the day seemed to have been endless, yet it was just after lunch. Helena squeezed my hand in encouragement. Nux was now being cared for by Albia; the dog had not wanted us to leave her.

Within a few minutes my task was done and nobody was laughing.

The atmosphere changed to funereal. Cleonyma sat motionless, trying to take in what I had said. Helena and her friend Minucia waited to console her, but so far the new widow's reaction was straight disbelief. There were questions that I needed to ask her urgently, but not now. She could not speak. After a while she tilted her head back slightly. A short rush of involuntary tears ran down her tinted cheeks, but she ignored them. Soon she recovered her composure.

"We had a hard life, then a good one," she pronounced, to nobody in particular. "He and I were true friends and lovers. You cannot ask for more."

She could have asked to enjoy it for longer.

She was flamboyant and loud yet, like her husband, underneath she had unusual modesty. The couple had been humane and decent. Helena and I respected them. We had decided that since there was so little evidence I would not mention my fears about what had happened – but to myself I made a vow that if those fears proved to be well founded, I would track down whoever had pushed Cleonymus down the crag.

Cleonyma had closed her eyes. Grief was starting to overcome her. Minucia moved closer and took her friend's hand. As she did so, Minucia shot me one quick, hard look, as if challenging me about the freedman's abrupt and unexpected extinction. I shook my head slightly, warning her off the subject. Then she devoted herself to

Cleonyma, signalling for the rest of us to leave them alone in the courtyard while the long process of mourning began.

Most of us went out on the street side, emerging into bright sunlight like stunned sheep after a hillside scare with a wolf. Helena sat me on a sunny bench, one arm around my shoulders protectively.

"You look as if you need a drink," Marinus offered, but I shook my head. He and Indus seemed to need to give someone hospitality to ameliorate their shock; they went off, leading Amaranthus instead. Helvia had been swallowed up by the Sertorius family. That left Volcasius. He came and plonked himself right in front of us.

"This is a new twist, Falco!" I just nodded. "So was it an accident?"

"Apparently." I did not want him upsetting Cleonyma with some blunt revelation that could not be proved.

"Doesn't sound like it!"

I forced myself to answer. "Nobody saw anything, so we cannot be sure what happened." I glared at Volcasius as he stood there, shambly and lop-sided in his irritating sunhat. "Unless you have any particular reason to suppose someone was out to get the freedman?"

Volcasius made no reply, but continued to stand there. He was a man with fixations and seemed fascinated by disasters. He would hang around unwanted, where those of us who understood the etiquette of crisis would leave the bereaved alone.

Helena shared my thoughts. She too must be wondering if Volcasius had clung to the bridegroom in the aftermath of the earlier tragedy. "Cleonyma will have a lot to go through now. You saw all this with Statianus at Olympia, Volcasius?"

"He was hysterical," Volcasius said. "Nobody he knew had ever died before. He had never seen a dead body, or had to arrange a funeral."

"You talked to him? Did anything come out of it?" Helena spoke unexcitedly. She seemed to give her attention to me, stroking my hair. I let myself go limp, soothed by her long fingers.